


A Little Warm in my Heart

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cons list outweighs the pros, but Santana knows she'll still end up outside, freezing, because Brittany wants to go sledding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Warm in my Heart

Cons: it’s cold, her dad ran out of hot chocolate last week and hasn’t gone shopping yet, there is a hole in the thumb of her glove, it’s cold, the snow just turns to water in the end, it’s cold, the neighborhood punks will inevitably try to get them to join a snowball fight, she’s not even sure where her snow boots are, it’s cold, she doesn’t look as cute in a big, puffy jacket as she does in her Cheerio flannels, she’ll have to shower afterwards and she just washed her hair, and  _it’s cold outside._

Pros: it’ll make Brittany, which means that  _she’ll_  be happy too.

Still, Santana looks out the window and shakes her head.

“C’mon,” Brittany asks, just a slight hint of a whine in her voice.

Santana doesn’t look at Brittany because it’s counterproductive to saying  _“no”_  and meaning it, so she pulls her Spanish book further into her lap and shakes her head a little harder. “Absolutely not.”

“But  _S_.”

It’s a whine this time and it scratches against Santana’s nerves; makes her want to snap back, but she grits her teeth instead and looks up with determination, almost faltering with her conviction, because Brittany is working her bottom lip between her teeth and she’s pulling on the bottom hem of her t-shirt. She steels herself anyway and frowns.

“It’s below freezing,” she tries to explain.

Brittany shakes her head. “Nuh uh. It’s 23° out. That’s practically summer.”

“In  _Switzerland_ , sure. But in Lima, it’s the middle of winter. It’s the middle of a cold, cold winter. And it’s warm in here,” she says, pointing to the thermostat on the wall. “Why would be abandon the cold just to go out  _there_.”

“‘Cause I want to,” Brittany says, like it should be obvious.

She sighs and takes a deep breath, ready to explain to Brittany that, rationally, they’ll only be out there for twenty minutes  _at most_  before Brittany will start to complain about the snow that got inside her jacket and how it isn’t even good sledding snow and then she’ll say that she can’t feel her toes and Santana will mostly stand there and say  _“I told you so”_  which will just piss Brittany off and that defeats the purpose of having an empty Lopez house all day long.

Brittany cuts in before she can say anything, though. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Santana lifts one eyebrow, crosses her arms over her chest and waits. The blond grins – not her usual  _“Everything is rainbows and angels and sombreros”_  but something that says  _“I’m going to get my way because I’m going to do something you’re going to like”_  instead. Santana watches her saunter across the room, her dark eyes following the sway of Brittany’s hips with each step and by the time Brittany is close enough, Santana is already reaching for her with one hand, the other pushing her Spanish book off her lap.

Brittany smirks and sits down, one leg on either side of Santana’s body, her arms looped around Santana’s neck. Santana holds her breath as Brittany leans forward, pushing Santana’s chin back with the bridge of her nose, following the motion.

When Brittany finds that spot right above her collarbone, Santana can’t stop her hands, against Brittany’s back, from gripping the barely there fabric of the other girl’s t-shirt. She can feel Brittany smile against her skin and  _yeah_ , she’s already lost this little battle and they’re going to go sledding at some point, but she’s still going to try and distract Brittany as long as possible.

She does a quarter-turn and hovers over Brittany pressed into the oversized couch for only a moment before she leans down, bypassing Brittany’s mouth, finding her cheek, her ear and her neck while her fingers tangle in thin blond hair.

“S,” Brittany murmurs, hand’s flexing against Santana’s hips.

Santana smirks and sits back on her shin, tracing the pattern on Brittany’s shirt, pushing it up when she gets to the hem. She can feel Brittany trying to keep deep, even breaths, and she smirks a little more before she leans back down, pulling Brittany’s shirt with her. The blond lifts her shoulders off the couch and Santana tosses the shirt near her Spanish book as soon as it’s over Brittany’s head.

“Hey, pretty,” Brittany coos as Santana’s hands follow the lines of Brittany’s sports bra, her fingertips barely skimming under the silky fabric.

“Hey yourself,” Santana whispers back, her gaze locked on her hands moving down over Brittany’s abs and across the top of her sweatpants. “As hot as you look in that uniform, B, you look so much better like this.”

Brittany grins, but there’s faint coloring in her cheeks that Santana doesn’t think has to do with being too warm. “You’re only saying that because you’re trying to get in my pants.”

Santana shrugs. “I’m always trying to get in your pants.”

“At least you’re,” Brittany starts, but her words stop as Santana let’s two fingers dip underneath the waistband of her sweats, hooking and pulling. “Honest,” she finishes, hips settling back on the couch.

“That I am,” Santana agrees distractedly. She looks up and catches Brittany’s gaze, her smirk fading at the sight of half-lidded eyes and the tip of a pink tongue sticking just so much out of Brittany’s mouth. “Jesus,” she says, almost hissing. One hand still fiddling with the tiny bow on the top of Brittany’s underwear, she surges up and grabs Brittany’s chin with her free hand, pulling until that tongue is pressed against her mouth, moving past Santana’s lips and curling around the back of her teeth.

Her hand moves quickly, tugging down the bowed-underwear and sliding down until her fingers move on their own, slipping even further and Brittany groans a little, shaking under her.

When Brittany’s body arches up into her own, Santana holds in her own groan and waits until Brittany has stopped rocking against her hand before she spills over to the side of the couch, caught between the back and Brittany’s side, the hand from Brittany’s chin moving nonsensically over Brittany’s stomach.

The blond exhales loudly and grins, turning her face into Santana’s shoulder. Santana can feel Brittany smile against her and then pucker her lips, kissing her through her shirt.

Santana settles back against the cushion, one arm slung low on Brittany’s waist and she think that maybe she won after all.

Except she thought too soon because Brittany is kissing her on the shoulder again, then quickly on the underside of her jaw and jumping off the couch, pulling her sweats back up and spinning in a circle twice before finding her shirt. Santana sits up, mouth hanging open, as Brittany hurries from the room and comes back a few minutes later with some of Santana’s dad’s old winter jackets.

One is thrown at her and it lands in her lap, a sharp scent of must hitting her in the face.

“Come on, stud,” Brittany commands, already pulling a hat down over her head. “We’re going sledding.”

“But, but,” she stutters.

Brittany grins. “The distracting me thing was cute and it  _almost_  worked. But it’s snowing and I wanna go sledding and if you hurry up, we can totally have sex in the kitchen.”

Santana’s head jerks back up. “Really?”

“Sure, baby,” Brittany says, reaching out and pulling a hat down over Santana’s eyes, laughing. “Whatever you want.”

Santana jumps off the couch, blindly reaching for where she thinks she put her sweatshirt earlier. She feels it thrust into her hands and she pulls it on, pushing the hat further up on her forehead and she grins a few minutes later when she’s standing at the front door, boots laced.

“Come on, slowpoke.”

Brittany sticks her tongue out at her, but Santana shakes her finger. “Don’t stick that out unless you plan on using it.”

The blond slides past her, the front of her thickly clothed body barely skimming across Santana and smirks as she presses a chaste kiss to Santana’s cheek, her voice suddenly low and deeper. “Maybe I plan on using it.”

Santana’s knees go a little weak, but she hangs onto the doorknob and watches Brittany run down the front walk, wondering how it’s possible for the blond to make her dad’s old clothes look sexy.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Brittany mocks at the curb, over her shoulder.

Santana rolls her eyes, but ducks her head and steps out the door.

That she takes three steps before she slips and sprawls out at the bottom of the stairs is just something else to add to her  _cons_  list next time Brittany wants to go out in the snow.


End file.
